


just a little bit off (help me hit the mark)

by stingerpicnic (ibelieveinfiction)



Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime 1990)
Genre: First Kiss, Humor, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Moomin loves them, Pining, Requited Love, Snufkin has freckles because I Said So, Snusmumriken | Snufkin Has Paws and a Tail, does this fic deserve that tag?, i think so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-18 07:35:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21940537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ibelieveinfiction/pseuds/stingerpicnic
Summary: It's not that Moomin has beenmissingsignals, really. It's more that he's been... misinterpreting them. But only barely so.Or: Moomin has a very interesting morning.
Relationships: Mumintrollet | Moomintroll/Snusmumriken | Snufkin
Comments: 16
Kudos: 309





	just a little bit off (help me hit the mark)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kittyorange](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittyorange/gifts).



> Merry Christmas and happy holidays!
> 
> I wrote this as a Christmas gift for my amazing friend Sody (kittyorange here on ao3 and candycorncartooncat on tumblr). Love you, friend!
> 
> But, no, seriously, writing this made me really appreciate how much they've listened to me talk about my stories and helped me plot. I kept this one 100% under wraps under posting so it would be a surprise and I really wanted to talk it over with them SO MANY TIMES but I couldn't. Because surprise.

The world is soft, just barely out of focus. Colors blurred together and sharp edges blunted.

Moomin can see tall trees all around him. Or, he thinks they’re trees. It’s a bit hard to tell with the whole out of focus thing going on.

He _assumes_ he’s in a forest, given all the trees, if that is indeed what they are. But, really, for all he knows this could just be a room with some oddly speckled green and brown walls. Honestly, he thinks the two might look fairly similar out of focus.

The one thing that _is_ in focus in forest--room-- _whatever_ space he’s in is Snufkin.

He exists in such clarity Moomin almost swears if he wanted to he could count every freckle that speckles his face like stars in the sky. He won’t. He’s tried that in the past, but only found that he much preferred simple gazing over counting. And he’s gazed enough to know every freckle by heart. 

There’s one he’s particularly fond of just under the corner of Snufkin’s left eye that never fails to make him want to cup his cheek in his paw and brush his thumb over it. And the three arranged in a triangle just off center from the tip of his nose always leave Moomin fighting down the urge to push his snout up against them and _nuzzle._ He’s managed to hold himself back from acting on _that_ embarrassing urge so far, but Moomin fears that one day he’ll slip and have to scramble to salvage what he can from the wreckage of their friendship.

Even now he can feel that deep yearning, like a rope knotted around his heart trying to tug him forward. 

He resists, but he gets the sense that his resistance is inconsequential. The world feels a bit like maple syrup, sticky and sweet, slowing his movements. He feels like he’s stuck in slow motion. He’s not the one who gets to decide how this moment goes. All he can do is watch what Snufkin does. 

This Snufkin is soft, though not in the way their surroundings are. Moomin can see it in his smile and all around his eyes. He looks like the Snufkin Moomin has only ever been allowed to see for fleeting moments in private spaces. He looks like the Snufkin Moomin is overjoyed he’s been _allowed_ to know. A Snufkin not many get to see.

But, he’s forced to admit, _this_ Snufkin is a bit different from _that_ Snufkin. Because _that_ Snufkin has never been more than just a friend. A friend he cherishes, probably more than it is appropriate for him to, but a friend all the same. _Just_ a friend. And _this_ Snufkin gives him wide grins and reaches out to hold both of his paws in his warm grip. _This_ Snufkin pulls him forward so he can nuzzle his adorable little nose with those adorable freckles against his snout. _This_ Snufkin presses their entwined fingers against his lips when he pulls back. So, maybe not _just_ a friend. Possibly.

Moomin stares at him, awestruck. He feels giddy happiness bubble up in his chest. He's wanted this for so long. He's never felt so _lucky--_

Then, he blinks. Suddenly, Snufkin is stood just a bit further away from him again, not touching him. Moomin can just barely remember that he had been doing something different, _thinking_ something different just a moment ago. He can't remember exactly what it was, but it was _different._ This transition is too sudden to make sense, he thinks, but the thought is distant and nearly unintelligible to him. He forgets any suspicion in favor of watching Snufkin as he reaches forward to grab his paw.

This time, Snufkin only brings his paw up hold between both of his own, smiling like they’re sharing a particularly wonderful secret, mischievous and so _happy._ Moomin would move mountains to keep him that happy if only he would ask him to.

Then, he blinks. And Snufkin isn’t touching him anymore. He watches him reach. Up, this time. Towards his face. He feels travel rough fingers press against the fur of one of his cheeks and watches Snufkin duck around to press a kiss the other.

He blinks. Snufkin does something different.

Blink. A kiss, pressed to the inside of his wrist.

Blink. A bright smile, splitting Snufkin’s face and squinting his eyes with the force of it.

Blink. A laugh, bubbly and light, and face that’s quickly pressed into the fur of his neck.

Blink. A warm hug. An ear pressed against his pulse and a contented sigh ruffling his fur. 

Blink. Paws tangling together, squeezing.

Blink. Lips pressed to fingertips and across knuckles.

Blink. “I love you.”

Blink. Moomin opens his eyes and Snufkin is gone.

In his place is Moomin's bedroom wall. The realization that he’s just woken up is crushing. It was all a dream.

Of course, Moomin does the only logical thing that can be done after waking up from a dream about his best friend and long-time crush loving him back. He rolls onto his stomach, takes a deep breath, and screams into his pillow. 

He sits in the resulting silence for a long moment, not breathing. Partially, he’s waiting to see if his screaming has woken anyone up and if Little My is about to screech at him to shut it. Partially, he needs the moment to come to terms with reality. Really, he probably needs a longer moment than he can hold his breath for that after _that_ dream, but he can’t stay in the pillow forever.

Eventually, he rolls back onto his side, unable to hide from the world any longer. His room is grey in morning light, pale shadows stretching across the floor and along the walls. It’s light enough he can clearly make out the multicolored pins on the map hung on his wall, but not much of the detail on the map itself. He must be up quite early.

He wonders if Snufkin is up yet. He wonders if he would welcome company if he was. He wonders, not for the first time, if there’s a possible future where his dreams forget to be dreams and become reality instead.

Well, he supposes he won’t be getting any answers or spending any time with Snufkin if he doesn’t get up.

He knows seeing Snufkin so soon is just as likely to worsen the sickly sweet ache that’s curled around his heart as it is to alleviate it, but he _also_ knows avoiding him won’t help. And, frankly, spending time with Snufkin is far preferable to not spending time with Snufkin. He gets up.

He feels the chill that’s settled into the house as he pushes his blanket off. It’s not surprising, it’s only just spring now and it’s _early,_ but it still catches him off guard and makes his fur puff up. He might have to take a quilt with if he goes outside. He imagines the grass is probably covered in morning dew and if the air is chilly, the ground will be worse.

He walks to his window, opens it, notes that is indeed _not_ warm outside, and peers out. There’s smoke rising from a small fire in front of Snufkin’s green tent. After a moment, he sees Snufkin himself emerge from the tent. So, he is awake.

Moomin just watches him for a long moment as he tends to something on the fire--his breakfast, no doubt. His heart aches just a bit more. He wants so badly to join him, but should he? He knows Snufkin values his time alone.He doesn't want to interrupt his morning if he's not feeling sociable. This isn’t a dream of his. This is reality. And, though Moomin must admit he likes real Snufkin a lot more than dream Snufkin if only for the fact that he’s _real,_ there are some things true of dream Snufkin he wishes were true of real Snufkin that just _aren’t._ Real Snufkin is much more likely to prefer to be alone in the mornings than be alone together, for one.

Real Snufkin doesn’t love him, for another.

Well, no. Okay. Real Snufkin does love him. He _does._ He knows he does. It would be hard not to know, really. Snufkin might not have ever verbally told him he loves him, but it’s obvious he does anyways. He hears it in his actions. He hears it every time Snufkin returns to the valley in the spring. Every time he plays him a new tune he's thought up. Every time he shows him a part of himself not everybody gets to see. And he’s reminded every time he sees the map hung up on his wall. Snufkin had given it him this spring when he returned from his trip to south. He’d helped him hang it and they’d made a game of putting in the first handful of pins. And he had done that all because Moomin had mentioned, _in passing,_ that it would be cool if he had a good way of keeping track of all the adventures Snufkin tells him about and where they happened in relation to each other. He wouldn’t do that if he didn’t love him. It’s just not the kind of love he wishes he felt. It’s platonic. Completely, truly _platonic._

And that’s _fine,_ really. He doesn’t mind that Snufkin only loves him as a friend. He’s overjoyed that he does. But sometimes--well, all the time if he’s being honest--he wishes he might love him as more than a friend. 

He’s pulled from his thoughts by Snufkin noticing him at the window and taking off his hat to wave it in greeting. Startled, Moomin waves back enthusiastically after a second, hoping distance between them conceals how flustered he is at having been caught staring.

He supposes he has no choice but to go say good morning now. He grabs a quilt as he quietly makes his way out of his room, careful not to wake anyone. As he passes the kitchen, he decides to grab some bread and Snufkin’s favorite flavor of jam. And a knife. For the jam, obviously. If he’s going to be interrupting Snufkin’s breakfast he might as well contribute to it.

He shuts the door as quietly as he can while carrying everything. It’s not until he’s off the porch that he lets himself quicken his pace. 

“Snufkin! Good morning!” he says brightly, though he keeps his voice lower than he might usually. There’s something about the early morning that makes him reluctant to interrupt its quiet, peaceful sounds with loud words.

“Good morning, Moomintroll,” Snufkin says. Moomin’s heart jumps at the smile he aims his way. He can feel the ache worsening already, rope tightening around his heart.

“Do you mind company today? I brought bread and jam to share,” he says, gesturing at the food he’s carrying.

“No, I don’t mind. And that’s very kind of you,” he says. It’s a simple statement, a simple confirmation that he doesn’t mind sharing his time with him, but Moomin’s mind still whispers that he means _I love you_ when he says it. He stubbornly reminds himself that he only means it as a friend.

Permission granted, it’s not long before he’s spread the quilt on the ground and sat down. And it’s an even shorter time after that before he’s smearing jam on bread to busy himself. 

“You’re up earlier than usual today. Any particular reason?” Snufkin asks after a moment. 

Moomin glances up at him. Snufkin isn't looking at him, instead focusing on stirring whatever he has in the pot over the fire. Moomin thinks it might be porridge from what he remembers glimpsing before he sat down. He goes back to task, praying that he reads as casual as he’s trying to come off as. 

“No real reason,” he pauses, debating what to say, how much he should reveal, “I had an interesting dream. Then I woke up. I knew I wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep, so I decided to see if you were awake and in the mood for company.”

Snufkin hums. “Is that why I caught you staring at me from your window then?”

His head whips up, heart suddenly beating quite a bit faster. This time, his eyes meet Snufkin’s own. He had hoped that Snufkin hadn’t actually picked up that he had been staring, not just briefly looking out his window, but it seems he’s been caught.

At least Snufkin doesn’t look upset. In fact, he looks quite the opposite. He’s grinning and his eyes are practically _sparkling_. Moomin even thinks his face might be just a bit more pink than usual. But that’s probably just the morning chill, right? Yes. It must be.

“Um, well, I mean, I wasn’t _staring,_ really,” he says, trying to fight down the heat he can feel overtaking his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “I was just trying to gauge whether or not you looked like you were ready for company yet. Yeah. That’s what I was doing.”

“Is it? Why not just come out and ask me?” Snufkin say. If Moomin didn’t know better, he would think Snufkin was laughing at him with all the mirth he could hear in his voice. 

“Well, I didn’t want to bother you if you _weren’t,_ obviously. And I’ll have you know I managed just fine reading your body language,” he huffs.

“You were reading my body language? At such a distance? My, Moomintroll, you must have some good eyes to do that,” he says. Okay, Moomin is almost sure Snufkin _is_ laughing at him now, actually. His grin has curved into something that resembles a smirk _far_ too much for him not to be.

He opens his mouth to defend himself further, indignation rising, but thinks better of it. “Why thank you, Snufkin. That means a lot,” he says instead. The giggle that garners serves just as much as evidence to justify his indignation as it does a reward. He loves hearing Snufkin laugh. He doesn’t get to often often enough. His mind whispers that he means _I love you_ when he lets him hear it.

He turns back to finish spreading the jam on the bread and finishes just as a bowl of porridge enters his line of sight. He looks up to see Snufkin standing in front of him. He hears _I love you_ in his offering to share his food, sees it in his soft smile. He reaches up to take his bowl. 

“Thank you,” he says. He assumes Snufkin will go back to sit on the log in front of his cookfire. It’s the spot he usually sits when he has company for meals, anyways. He doesn’t, though.

No. Instead, he plops himself down on the quilt right next to Moomintroll.

“You’re welcome,” he says after he’s situated himself, like he hasn’t done anything at all out of the ordinary.

Moomin freezes, just for a second, before shaking it off. Act casual, he tells himself. Do _not_ act like you just had a dream involving him kissing you and telling you he loves you. Do literally _anything_ but that. This is a normal morning and you will act like a normal moomin. You will _not_ read into this any more than you should.

But, by his tail, Snufkin is sitting so _close._ He’s practically leaning against his side. Moomin looks at him and can see every detail of him in perfect clarity. Sharp teeth poking out from under pink lips. Long eyelashes over beautiful brown eyes. Freckles that dot his face like stars. He his eyes are unerringly drawn to the one under his eye, the three on his nose, the countless other constellations he's carefully traced over in his mind on countless occasions. The rope knotted around his heart tugs a little harder and he _aches._

Snufkin rarely sits this close to him. Except when they fish together, he sits pretty close then. And sometimes when they rest while hiking. And when Snufkin takes him to see some of the beautiful hideaways he’s found in Moominvalley. And _maybe_ he sits a _little_ close when they--wow, does this really happen that often? Had it _always_ happened so often? He could have sworn otherwise.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Snufkin says.

“Do I want to talk about what?” he says, a slightly hysteric edge to his voice. The fact that they’re sitting so close? The fact that they apparently sit so close fairly regularly? The fact that they sit so close so regularly and he somehow _hadn’t_ _noticed?_

“You said you had an “interesting” dream earlier. Did you want to talk about it?”

Oh. Okay. Yeah. That made more sense for him to ask about. No need to panic. Yet. “Not really. It was just a little weird. No big deal,” he says, hoping the hesitancy he’s no doubt projecting is enough to convince Snufkin not to push him on it.

Snufkin hums thoughtfully. He doesn’t push. Moomin hears _I love you._

After a moment, Moomin feels a weight fall onto his side. He looks down to see Snufkin, curled so he can lean against his side and still hold his bowl. He feels the rope around his heart get a little tighter.

This is fine, he tells himself over the din of his internal screaming. He’s only just a little bit closer. Never mind that he looks _adorable_ with his face pressed up against your fur. Take a deep breath and calm down. Everything is fine.

Then, Snufkin starts purring.

It’s not fine.

His mind won’t stop whispering a never ending stream of _I love you I love you I love you_ in time with the rolling rumble of Snufkin’s purr. Snufkin doesn’t purr often. Moomin isn’t even sure that all their friends even know he _can_ with how rare the sound is. Not even Moomin gets to hear it with any sort of frequency he would call often. And Snufkin is choosing to give this to him now. It’s quite nearly too much for his heart to bear.

Moomin makes the mistake of looking at Snufkin's face.

The moment is perfect. So perfect Moomin almost doesn’t believe it’s real. The sound of Snufkin’s purr fits perfectly alongside the quiet cacophony of a world just starting to wake up. The sun is rising in the distance, brightening the sky and casting the day’s first sunbeams over the valley. A stray sunbeam hits Snufkin face, casting him in golden light and highlighting the soft curve of his smile, the arch of his cheekbones, the slope of his nose. The brown of his eyes goes honey and Moomin is _captivated._ Snufkin looks stunning in the early morning light, calm and relaxed and _happy_. Moomin feels the rope knotted around his heart give a firm tug. 

Maybe it all _is_ too much for his heart to bear. 

He feels something break.

The next thing he knows, his paw is on Snufkin's cheek and his snout is pressed against his nose in a gentle nuzzle. 

For one wonderful, amazing, glorious moment Moomin feels nothing but joy and love. The feeling in his chest reminds him of watching Mamma cook pancakes on the its. It's warm and thick, coating this rib cage and _sticking,_ but it's bubbly too. Bubbly enough that it's light rather than suffocating, like a hug rather than the intense pressure of the rope that had been knotted around his heart. And, most importantly, it feels a whole like _home._

Then, he’s quite suddenly rather far away from Snufkin, having flung himself off him after he realized what he was doing. He feels like he’s been doused with a bucket of ice water. The warmth in his chest is little more than a memory. Possibly the _last_ memory he’ll have of warmth like that. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to feel warm again after Snufkin ends their friendship.

“I’m sorry!” he says at the same time Snufkin lets out a confused “Moomintroll?” from the position he’d fallen into when the moomin he’d been leaning on abruptly disappeared.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, quieter. He prays that Snufkin will forgive him. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Why not?” Snufkin says, sounding, Moomin thinks, _far_ too confused for the words he’s saying.

Moomin’s brain shuts off.

“Why _not?_ Why shouldn’t I have just _kissed you_ like that?” he says. Maybe Snufkin didn’t realize that it was a kiss and that’s why he’s not upset with him, he thinks somewhat hysterically. But he must have realized, right? He’s seen Mamma and Papa kiss before and Moomin is _sure_ he had explained it to him when he asked him after the first time he saw it. He’s sure he told him it was a romantic kiss too. 

Moomin wishes he knew what was going on. 

Snufkin sighs. “Moomintroll, I’ve really appreciated how slow you’ve been going with me. You’ve always tried to respect my boundaries and that's something that I love about you. But we’ve been together for _months_ now, nearly a full year. It’s okay if you want to kiss me--”

_“What?”_

“What?”

“We’re _together?_ We’ve _been_ together for _months?”_ he says, louder than he meant to in his shock. His mind is reeling.

Snufkin is quiet for a long time, looking at him with wide eyes. 

“...Yes?” he says eventually. It sounds like a question.

“Oh.” he says. He feels a bit lightheaded. “I didn’t know.”

“Oh.”

Neither of them say anything for a while. Moomin doesn’t know what comes next. He never thought something like this would happen.

Slowly, hesitantly, hope starts to bubble up in Moomin’s chest. If Snufkin was convinced they were together for so long, does that mean he…

“Snufkin, do you… _like me?”_ he says. A giddy grin fights its way onto his face.

Snufkin groans and hides his face in his paws. Moomin can see him growing steadily redder. ”By all the stars,” he mutters.

“You _do!”_ Moomin says, beyond excited. Snufkin just groans louder. Moomin scoots back over to him from where he landed earlier. “Don’t worry. I like you too,” he whispers conspiratorially.

Snufkin shifts his paws to peer up at him. After a moment, he drops them entirely.

“Yeah?” he says. His voice is like his smile, soft and hopeful.

“Yeah,” he confirms. “Do you want to try that first kiss again?”

“I think I’d like that.”

Looking into Snufkin’s eyes. Moomin reaches forward, paw coming into contact with Snufkin’s left cheek. He brushes his thumb over the much loved freckle underneath his eye, feeling so unimaginable lucky that he _can,_ that he’s _allowed to._

Snufkin’s paws come up to cradle his, one moving to rest on top of his own and the other wrapping around his wrist. Moomin feels travel worn fingers trace circles over his pulse point. He hears _I love you._ He lets himself believe it’s everything he wants it to be. He thinks he might be right.

He leans in and gently presses his snout against the trio of freckles on Snufkin’s nose he’s dreamt of kissing. Slowly, softly, he moves his head in a nuzzle. Snufkin nuzzles back. His chest feels like it’s full of pancake batter, all gooey and bubbly and warm.

When he pulls back, he sees Snufkin cast in sunrise gold, face is tinged pink. He looks just as happy as Moomin feels. Moomin feels like his heart might burst out of his chest.

“I love you,” he says.

“I love you too,” he hears back. This time, it’s not just in his head and it’s not just a dream. It’s real.

**Author's Note:**

> Someone help them. They're both disasters.
> 
> Anyway who else has seen the new Moominvalley episodes? Snufkin and his little fire spirit were adorable.
> 
> Feel free to come scream at me over on my [tumblr @stingerpicnic](https://stingerpicnic.tumblr.com/)! Both my ask box and my messages are open and I promise I'm friendly!


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